


Hotline Bling

by chucks_prophet



Series: Call Me When You Need My Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...you'll see, Awkward Castiel, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Caller Castiel, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex Operator Dean, Sexual Humor, That Being Said No Actual Sex, To Be Continued, awkward everything, but - Freeform, but still super cute, car talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: The pause over the other end that feels like eternity, then, all at once, Cas says: "I would say you're gorgeous." That makes Dean’s blush grow wider. He can tell that comment wasn’t scheduled programming because of the static, or the clearing of Cas’s throat, that follows, "Uh, I mean, in my head, of course. Given your massive masculinity complex, I would probably try to jumpstart your midlife crisis and recommend a classic car. A mustang, maybe. Predated back at least fifty years."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt sent to me by my very best friend, the Benny to my Dean:
> 
> Have you ever considered a fic about like one person being a phone sex operator and the other person being like the awkward person on the other side? And then they like decide to meet in real life and fall in love? Or is that too much??
> 
> The answer, if this fic doesn't say it, is I have not considered it. Until now.
> 
> Part 2, when they actually meet, will be a separate fic, but in the same series.
> 
> The title of this fic and the series name is inspired by the Drake song, because don't tell me you can't see Dean jamming out to that in his room while he thinks Sam's gone on his morning run and Sam finding him with a pair of shades on inside, using one of the long-since broken burners as his "hotline" during the chorus, and Dean formulating no reasonable explanation. Which is why we love him.

 

Despite the job description, Dean’s part-time gig is pretty unstimulating.

Phone sex operators provide a service to outgoing callers, just like any other business. Once Dean accepted his voice alter ego as Christian Bale’s Batman and that he’s saving the city one orgasm at a time, it actually became sorta rewarding. And it can be quite lucrative. Don’t get him wrong: being a paramedic pays itself, saving people’s lives and all, but it would be nice to at least move up from _Ramen_ to _Healthy Choice._

Only, today is slightly different. Not because there’s a man on the other end—Dean’s spoken with many men before, and achieved the same level of gratification as with women, sometimes even more so—but because this man’s voice is deep and raspy and just might make _Dean_ the one getting served tonight, and on top of it, he’s _super_ awkward. He actually says, and Dean quotes: _“Sorry, my people skills are a little rusty.”_

“It’s alright,” Dean reassures. “Do you want to start from the beginning?”

There’s a pause on the other end. “ _Where’s the beginning?”_

Dean smiles a little to himself at his horrifyingly messy desk. Reports and forms from his primary job are organized by the gust of wind that comes hurdling through the front door every couple days.  There’s a week-old espresso that’s tipped over and since formed a ring of dried coffee on the plate supporting it. Three pairs of sunglasses hang around. One acts as a paperweight for a tattered paperback copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five,_ and the other two are playing a game of _Where’s Waldo_. They’re likely on the other side of his laptop, which is spotted with fingerprints belonging to yours truly and cracked in five different places.

“Depends what you’re into,” Dean states, still in character.

“ _Oh… well, I don’t know… maybe the house special?”_

Dean has to hold back a laugh as he breaks character, “Have you ever used this service before?”

“ _Well, I mean… no. I just thought… Gabe, my_ brother _, thought it would help me unwind. Apparently, I need something else other than the stick up my ass.”_

“Do you _want_ to unwind?”

 _“Of course,”_ the guy says like it’s fact (which it should be—everyone needs some self-loving now and then), “ _it would be nice to try something new._ _And it_ has _been a while since… sorry, I’m oversharing.”_

Dean switches the phone to his other ear and chuckles, “This job is about oversharing. You’re fine.”

_“That’s true. You’ve probably heard your fair share of weird kinks.”_

“Too many,” Dean affirms, blowing through his nose. “I usually don’t ask this, but what’s your name?”

_“Cas. Castiel.”_

“Cas, nice to meet you, I’m Dean,” he says, and it may be a risk, but he breaks the ice asking forthright: “So, what weird, embarrassing kinks do you have that you would never divulge to another human being?”

Luckily, it’s the right choice, because he can hear Cas laugh as he responds, “ _Well… I own a pair of buttless chaps. It’s, um, kind of a long story, but they’re real leather, so I haven’t had it in me to toss them.”_

“Kinky.”

 _“Very,”_ Cas affirms. _“I’m sorry, I’m seriously not at all interesting. And like I said: rusty people skills.”_

"What do you do, Cas?" Dean asks, glossing right over Cas’s self-depreciating words, because seriously, this guy is too cute to be hating on himself.

" _I'm a car salesman_ ,” he replies, curiosity spiking the deepness in his raspy voice, “ _Why do you ask?"_

"See, you _do_ know how to talk to people."

_"Coaxing and talking are two different things."_

"Okay,” Dean says, “then just imagine I'm a customer."

 _"Looking for a car?"_ Cas asks.

"Looking for a car," Dean confirms.

“ _And how exactly will this turn sexy?”_

“Just trust me,” Dean says, "What's the first step to selling me your pitch?”

_"I... I don't know."_

"Cas."

_"Dean, I've been doing it so long I’ve just sort of fallen into routine.”_

"Take me through that routine, then."

If Dean could see him, he would probably be witness to Cas narrowing his eyes, because each word is weighted like produce on a scale: _"Are you sure we're not jumping back into phone sex?"_

Dean laughs with the shake of his head, "I'm sure, Cas. Look, what's the first sort of assessment you have to perform on me before your pitch?"

_"Um... physical. You know, scoping you out for anything I can use to my advantage."_

“Good, good. Okay..."Dean fights to bite his lip as it’s curving into a mischievous smile. Then, he reverts to his default “sexy” voice: "I'm a fifty-year-old man wearing a black mesh shirt that shows off my sterling silver nipple piercings and my heart mom tattoo on my left breast. I have hair down to my ripped, acid-wash jean shorts. What do you say?"

Judging by the silence on the other end, he’s effectively scared Cas into next week. It just makes the anticipation of Cas’s response all the more worthwhile.

 _"You look like a guy who likes to take risks. How about a Maserati?"_ Cas replies unsurely. There's a pause, then: _"Do you really look like that?"_

"No,” Dean answers, unable to control his grin now.

Cas scoffs into the line so hard, Dean can feel it against his ear and tickle the tuff of caramel hair around it, _"How am I supposed to sell you a car if you're not honest with me?"_

"Hey, what happened to the customer's always right policy?" Dean argues.

" ** _Dean_.** "

"Okay, alright,” Dean says, then goes into contemplation. He’s never described _himself_ before. It’s weird being on the other side of the fence. He shifts a little in his seat and uses the reflection from his powered-off laptop screen before starting: "Um, short brown hair, square-ish face with light stubble, freckles… mostly around my nose… some covering my cheeks… and I’m wearing a faded AC/DC shirt that’s kind of tight not because I’m too big and muscular, but because I’m too emotionally attached to it to toss it. It’s my favorite shirt.”

_"Eyes?"_

"Uh... they’re green, why?"

_"It, uh, it helps with my assessment,” Cas says._

"O-oh,” Dean stammers. He holds the phone away for a second to mouth, _What the fuck?_ Then says: “Okay.”

The pause over the other end that feels like eternity, then, all at once, Cas says: _"I would say you're gorgeous."_ That makes Dean’s blush grow wider. He can tell that comment wasn’t scheduled programming because of the static, or the clearing of Cas’s throat, that follows, _"Uh, I mean, in my head, of course. Given your massive masculinity complex, I would probably try to jumpstart your midlife crisis and recommend a classic car. A mustang, maybe. Predated back at least fifty years."_

Dean scoffs, "I know that was a joke, but..."

_"Seriously?!"_

"Not a mustang,” Dean says, “but I... uh, I drive a '67 Chevy."

 _"Fifty years_ exactly _! Huh. Guess I'm good at my job."_

“But you could be better.”

_“What?”_

“Your sales pitch,” Dean laughs. “Proceed.”

_“Oh-oh, right! Um… but sir, maybe I could interest you in a slimmer body, perhaps?”_

Even though Cas can’t see him, Dean scratches his chin for good measure. “What do you have in mind?”

Dean can hear Cas smack his lips a couple times before he settles with, _“Well, it’s a slightly newer model for your old school taste: a ’74. But it still runs smooth if you can get past the occasional sputtering. It comes in tan, and…”_ Another pause, then: _“The trunk can hold quite a bit of… personals. It’s been tested for quality assurance.”_

Dean has to hold his breath to keep from shuttering into the phone because _holy four-wheeler, Batman_ : “You… uh… you definitely sold me.”

 _“Yeah?”_ Cas asks, so buoyant, Dean can practically feel his grin.

“Yeah, just… one more question, if I may?”

_“Sure.”_

“When can I take it for a test drive?”

Cas just laughs, a sound that makes Dean do a full-body dance that rattles his bones: _“I can get you in as soon as tomorrow.”_

**To be continued…**


End file.
